


Bought and Sold

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Begging, Blind Deucalion, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Come Marking, D/s, Daddy Kink, Dark Derek Hale, Drugging, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Gunplay, Hooker Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Knifeplay, M/M, Name-Calling, Nipple Play, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter doesn't have long to wait. He's only halfway through his martini when a man comes through the door, flanked by two larger men, and Peter would know this is his client even if he hadn't been wearing glasses to hide his blindness.</p><p>He rises smoothly to greet the Alpha speaking a few seconds before he normally would, in order to give the man a better orientation as to where Peter was. “Mr. Deucalion, thank you for meeting me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deucalion

Peter takes the martini from the bartender with a smile, tips him extra, and saunters all the way to the other side of the club, lets his so-tight-he-can-barely-breathe jeans, and very high-end v-neck sweater do the talking for him.

Peter settles into a curtained booth, one he's made his own since he chose this place as center of operations. He keeps specific office hours, and doesn't do business outside of them.

Peter doesn't have long to wait. He's only halfway through his martini when a man comes through the door, flanked by two larger men, and Peter would know this is his client even if he hadn't been wearing glasses to hide his blindness.

He rises smoothly to greet the Alpha, speaking a few seconds before he normally would, in order to give the man a better orientation as to where Peter was. “Mr. Deucalion, thank you for meeting me.”

“Peter, I presume,” the man responds with a smooth, controlled accent that makes Peter wonder how he sounds in bed.

Deucalion extends his hand and Peter places his in the older man's, who pulls it close, delicately scenting Peter's wrist. The beta represses a shiver, and smirkes slowly. He's very much looking forward to the assignation.

“Would you care for a drink, Sir?” Peter asks politely, noting the minute stiffening, the tiny twitch of Deucalion's hand. He has a little game he plays with himself, guessing things about his clients. Peter is very rarely wrong.

Normally their eyes give them away, even experienced wolves have difficulty controlling their eyes when aroused. Deucalion promises to be a challenge. Peter's fond of those.

There's idle chat over glasses of wine, and then Peter gets down to business, reading the contract in a low tone of voice that only another wolf could have heard.

Deucalion makes a few suggestions, and they work out a date and a price.

-

Peter's an escort, and he's just as comfortable going to galas and gatherings as he is in the bedroom. Deucalion takes Peter to a charity gala, the Alpha is raising funds for wolf sanctuaries, which are really fronts for orphaned weres. Peter enjoys the hell out himself in a perfectly tailored suit, royal blue shirt showing off his eyes and chest to perfection.

Deucalion had insisted on dressing Peter himself, and the beta gets a little flushed thinking about it.

-

“ _You're a beautiful man,” the Alpha murmurs softly after politely requesting that Peter strip. He spends a very long time letting his fingers trace over Peter's cheeks and jaw, fingers that could rend and tear with vicious claws, soft and tender as they slid along the corded muscle of his neck._

_Peter keeps his eyes fixed on the Alpha's face right up until the questing fingers find both his nipples simultaneously, and then they slide closed, lips parting to emit a tiny gasp that Peter just can't hold back._

“ _So responsive,” Deucalion breathes against Peter's neck as the fingers pluck and torment until Peter's hard against the older man's thigh. “We're going to have a lovely evening when we get home, aren't we, pup?”_

 _All Peter can do is whimper as the strong hands slide exquisitely tailored trouser up and he's been doing this for a while and never been erotically_ dressed _before. The sleek leather belt is slid through the lops, and Deucalion slides his hand along the smooth finish. “I think we'll use this on you later, what do you say?”_

_Peter nods, forgetting that Deucalion can't see him for a moment, but the Alpha taps a finger over Peter's heart as it skips a beat._

_The soft blue shirt is tugged over Peter's shoulder and carefully buttoned up, and the older man takes his time tucking it in, smooths those large hands over Peter's backside to check the fit. The suitcoat is slid slowly on, and Deucalion uses the lapels as handholds, pulling Peter's body flush against his for a very long,_ very _thorough kiss. He nips lightly at Peter's lips as he gently slides the tie around Peter's neck, ties it just a bit too tight, and then slides a thumb over the swollen lips._

“ _Now you're ready for me, pup,” Deucalion whispers before tugging the knot loose so that Peter can take a deep breath._

_-_

All evening long, just when Peter would calm down, Deucalion would touch his tie, or a lapel, or run a finger along the belt, every shift slid the shirt fabric across the oversensitive nipples. By the time Deucalion has Peter in his hotel room, the beta is more than ready to be tumbled into bed. But that's not Deucalion's style.

He has to slowly undress Peter, using his hands to relearn the planes of the younger man's body, has to slide his hands along Peter's back, curve around his backside while his tongue explores every corner of the beta's mouth. Deucalion doesn't demand Peter's submission, he coaxes it out of him, like slowly unraveling a sweater starting with a single thread.

Peter is far too ready when the Alpha finally speaks, so very hard, and leaking against his thigh.

“Please kneel for me, Peter.” And he does, slide to his knees, hands gently settling on the older man's thighs. Deucalion runs his thumb along Peter's lips, pushes it inside and lets Peter suckle on it for a while before withdrawing, hands finally going to his own zipper.

Peter's mouth is watering as Deucalion pulls his dick free, slides the fat head along his lips, and he can't resist parting them, darting his tongue out to flick along the slit.

“Eager little pup, aren't you?” Deucalion murmurs in that cultured tone as he slowly feeds his cock into Peter's mouth. Gradually, inexorably, the Alpha slides into Peter's throat, bring the kneeling man's face closer and closer until Peter's nose in pressed up against the soft fabric of Deucalion's slacks.

Gentle fingers slide down Peter's neck, then wrap around and squeeze rhythmically before he pulls back enough for Peter to gasp for some air. There's soft chuckle above him and then the maneuver is repeated, Deucalion's hand sliding up and down Peter's throat, feeling himself inside.

Peter loses track of time, of everything as he focuses on breathing when he can, and keeping his throat open for his client, and he has no idea how long it's been when Deucalion pulls himself fully out, keeping his hand wrapped around Peter's throat.

“Up on the bed please, Peter,” he requests politely, and Peter rises, turns as Deucalion's hand slides around the back of his neck, and leads the way to the hotel's bed. He climbs on the bed, hands and knees, and the Alpha murmurs to him, “Good boy,” before his hands slide across the dip in Peter's back, lightly caress the globes of the beta's ass, and then trail underneath, cupping Peter's balls gently.

Deucalion's hands retreat before Peter's cock gets any attention, and he whines a little, which results in that same soft chuckle from the older man. “Patience, pup.”

Peter hears the snick of a bottle, and then slick fingers sliding down the cleft of his ass, swirling teasingly against his puckered hole, and then gently dip in. Peter pushes back against them, but a strong hand curling around his hip halts the beta's movements. He growls low but stills, hands fisting into the covers as Deucalion takes his time prepping the escort, slowly fingering him open with two fingers before he adds a third.

“I'm ready,” Peter says over his shoulder, earning himself a sharp slap in the rump.

“You're ready when I say you are, and not before,” Deucalion returns with the hint of an edge to his voice, and Peter's struck with the dual sensations of feeling bad that he's displeased the Alpha, and turned by that the little spike of pain and the command in the older man's voice.

“Aren't you, pup?” Deucalion demands with another swat and Peter gasps.

“Yes, Alpha.”

“There you go,” the soft murmur is back as the older man spreads his fingers and then withdraws them completely, wiping them on the bedspread before leaning back. There's a long moment of silence and Peter wonders if he should move, should try to assist the older man, but then he hears the unmistakeable sound of the Alpha jacking himself, and so Peter holds position until Deucalion speaks again.

“Hold yourself open, please Peter.”

And he does, reaches his hands around and pulls the fleshy cheeks apart, unable to hold back the whimper as Deucalion's two thumbs slide into his hole and pull it apart again. And then a full out whine as the blunt head of Deucalion's dick slides in, pressing the thumbs wider. Peter shivers softly as the Alpha removes his hands and rolls his hips forward, pushing a little further in with each thrust.

“Clasp your hands behind your back for me, pup,” and Peter has no idea how Deucalion can sounds so calm when Peter feels so strung out and desperate. He moves his hands as requested, though, balling them into a tight fist at the small of his back, just as the older man gives a harsh thrust and slides fully home inside Peter.

Deucalion reaches for Peter's shoulders, pulls the beta up until his back is flush against the older man's clothing, and then lets his hands explore Peter again, one pushing a thumb into the beta's mouth for him to suckle, the other stroking gently down the younger man's stomach and thigh. He rolls his hips ever so slightly and Peter moans around the thumb as the cock presses against the bundle of nerves deep inside him. Deucalion's lips find Peter's neck as his fingers go back to playing with Peter's nipples, and he worries blunt human teeth into the corded muscle before he breathes against the beta's ear.

“Beg for me, Peter.”

And Peter does, letting whatever comes to mind fall from his lips, pleading to be fucked, to be filled with the Alpha's come, to be allowed to finish, anything and everything he can think of while Deucalion takes his time fucking Peter.

After what seems like forever, a large hand wraps around Peter's neglected dick, stroking it roughly in stark contrast to Deucalion's leisurely movements, and the soft voice commanding him in his ear.

“Come for me, pup, be a good boy for your Alpha.”

Peter's been on the edge so long that it doesn't take much before he's spilling over the older man's hand, the other one splayed across Peter's lips to catch the moment of orgasm.

Deucalion lifts his hand to Peter's mouth as the other moves to cup the beta's throat, and Peter doesn't need to be told, he starts licking his fluids from Deucalion's fingers. Only after the Alpha is satisfied does he let Peter go, push him forward onto the bed and seek his own pleasure. Peter lays limply on the comforter and makes tiny whimpering sounds until Deucalion pulls completely out, and then the beta gasps as he feels the hot splashes on his back and ass. The older man takes a few deep breaths that Peter can hear, and then puts himself away, the zipper loud in the suddenly silent room.

Peter hears the thump of the stack of cash being dropped on the bedside table, and then the soft sound of Deucalion's voice.

“Thank you, Peter, I'll give you a call should I be in the area again. You have the room for a couple of days.”

And then the door closes quietly. Peter groans as he pushes himself up, wrinkling his nose up at the now-cold fluid sliding down his back, and reaches for the bills, counting the cash before he heads for the shower. It's all there, and then some, and Peter smirks slowly. He hopes Deucalion will be a repeat customer.

 


	2. Daddy

Peter blinks blearily as his phone alarm goes off, one long moment of befuddled confusion as he shuts it off. It takes him a minute to recall the date, and a slow smile breaks out across the werewolf face as he heads for the shower.

Exactly at seven am, his cell rings, and Peter is lounging on his bed, wrapped in his robe.

“Good morning, Daddy,” he says with a smile, and the rough voice at the other end of the line chuckles.

“How's my boy?”

Peter doesn't have a name for the man, has _never_ had one. Their very first meeting, the first thing the guy had said was to call him Daddy, and Peter had been doing it ever since, although he's listed as _John_ in Peter's private black book. He had to call him something.

'Daddy' was his oldest client, they'd been seeing each other for many years. On the 23rd of each month, Peter gets the seven am call.

“I'm good, Daddy, just got out of the shower.”

“Get yourself all clean, kid? Being a good boy for me?”

“I'm always good for you! I want to make you proud.” The script is always the same, Peter could repeat it in his sleep.

“Good, I've got a list of chores for you, and if you get them all done, I will have a reward for you when I get home.”

“I will, I promise, Daddy.”

-

Peter goes to the address that 'Daddy' had given him, a cabin a little ways into the woods. It's a different place every time, sometimes a rented house or a motel room, but the 'chores' are always the same.

Peter folds his clothing and leaves them next to the door, then goes into the bathroom, and spends the next hour or so removing all his body hair. Daddy likes him smooth.

After another shower, the wolf flushes himself out a few times, then pads back to his bag by the door and pulls out Daddy's favorite plug. Using plenty of lube, Peter pushes it in until its settled into place, gives himself a little while to get used to it before he slides on the blue lace panties that the older man likes.

Daddy calls him again, precisely at noon, and Peter tells him the 'chores' that he's finished so far, and that he's at the grocery store.

“You gonna make a good dinner for me, kid?”

“I'm going to make your favorite, I want to make you happy.”

“You're being so good for me right now, baby boy.” Peter flushes faintly, for all that this is an old routine, the praise gets to him still. “I want you to finish your shopping and then call me when you're back in the car.”

Peter gets the things he needs and pays for them, and then when everything's in the car, he make that phone call.

“Can you feel that toy moving inside you, boy? I want you to rock back and forth in your seat, fuck yourself on it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter says breathlessly as he obeys, shifting his hips until he gets the right angle for the plug to slide against his prostate.

“Now unzip your pants and slide your hand inside your panties. I want you to stroke yourself until you come, baby. Come inside your pretty blue panties for me.”

It doesn't take long before Peter's doing so, spilling into the lace as the older man murmurs in his ear, telling him how good he is, how proud Daddy is of him.

Once Peter's breathing is back to normal, they hang up, and the werewolf zips up his jeans, grimacing at the cold wetness. That's his least favorite part of this whole routine.

He takes the groceries back to the little cabin, and puts everything away, then folds his clothes again by the door, leaving only the blue lace on. The werewolf tugs out the apron that matches the panties, where the man had found it, Peter will never know. He proceeds to get dinner prepared, meatloaf and mashed potatoes from scratch, done exactly according to the recipe given to him. Then he spends the next couple hours cleaning, and getting everything prepared just as Daddy likes it.

-

When Daddy comes through the door, dinner is on the table, the house is clean, and his boy is waiting for him, kneeling patiently next to his chair.

“Perfect,” he says softly, and Peter represses a prideful smirk. This _is_ why he's in such high demand after all, his attention to detail and thoroughness to the fantasy.

'John' comes over and presses a kiss to the top of Peter's head and then heads in to take a quick shower. Peter waits where he is until the older man settles into his chair at the table.

“C'mere, boy,” he orders, and Peter crawls over and kneels at John's feet. He's fed little tidbits from the human's plate, making sure to thank him after every bite. Daddy's very big on manners.

When he's finished with his dinner, Daddy pushes back and heads for the couch with a beer, flicks on the tv. Peter kneels between his parted legs as the older man pulls his cock free, and then he tugs Peter closer. John rubs the fat head of his dick across Peter's lips before ordering him to open them.

The werewolf obeys immediately and Daddy slides it in, moans softly as the wet heat surrounds him. Peter feels the weight of it settle across his tongue, and he closes his eyes, concentrating on being very still, on simply being there to warm Daddy's cock.

Whatever sports thing the older man is watching on tv is halfway over before he starts moving Peter's head, fucks his mouth slowly for a while before tugging the wolf back.

“Did you finish all your chores, kid?”

Peter nods as John runs a thumb over reddened, spit-slick lips, pushes it inside and lets Peter suckle at it.

“Except that the bathroom counter is a mess, and the bed is unmade.”

Peter widens his eyes, as if in innocent forgetfulness, and manages a little whimper around Daddy's thumb.

“Still, you did everything else I asked, so just ten this time, okay?”

Peter nods as John pulls out his thumb, tugs the younger man over his lap. “Count 'em for me, baby.”

And of course, the red marks will only stay for a little while, but Peter enjoys feeling the strength of the older man, and the human likes not having to hold back, relieving some daily stress.

Daddy makes sure that each strike moves the plug inside Peter, and by the time he's reached ten, the werewolf is hard and leaking.

Peter is pulled up, tugged into straddling the older man's lap, and John reaches around to tug the laces free, to remove the apron. He tosses it to the side, slides his large hands along Peter's back, cups the lace covered rear with his left hand. Daddy runs his other hand along the front of the panties, feeling the cock trapped inside them.

“You're going to come for me again, baby, just like this.” John slides two finger down the cleft of Peter's ass, puts them right on the base of the plug, moving it slightly.

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter breathes as he rolls his hips forward, rutting up against the strong hand as John watches his face.

It doesn't take him very long to get close, and when he tells Daddy so, the older man starts fucking him hard with the plug, pulling it out a little ways before shoving it back in.

Peter cries out, “Daddy,” as he shudders in the older man's lap, once again fills his panties with come.

“That's my good boy,” John murmurs as Peter buries his face in the older man's neck, and his hands move to stroke down the werewolf's side and back gently.

“Now,” John says softly, once Peter is recovered, “go clean up and then its bedtime.”

The human returns his attention to the game, stroking himself slowly from time to time, until the dishes are drying on the rack and everything's away in the fridge. Then John shuts the tv off, heads into the bedroom and strips. He lays back in bed, arms tucked behind his head, and calls for his boy.

“Come make Daddy more comfortable.”

Peter slides the blue lace free, before spending the next hour or so worshiping the human, kisses his neck and along his jaw, suckles and teases Daddy's nipples, trails his mouth down John's chest and stomach, mouths at the older man's balls, before running his tongue along the part beneath.

Daddy bends his knee to the side, gives Peter access to the tiny puckered hole, and the wolf swirls his tongue around it before pushing it in. He nips lightly at the rim, and then moves his way back up until Daddy wraps his strong arms around Peter and pulls his boy down on top of him.

John watches Peter's face as he reaches down, gently tugs the plug free and sets it on the side table. He curls three fingers into the sloppy, wide-open hole, holding Peter's face up, looking into the brilliant blue eyes as he fingers the younger man.

“You've been so good for me, baby, are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes, Daddy, please.”

John pulls Peter down to his side, shifting as well, pressing his chest to the werewolf's back. He lifts Peter's leg, curling it back and over his, and gradually slides himself into his boy.

“You had that in you all day and you're still so tight for me.” John rocks his hips, reveling in the velvety heat, then wraps his arms around Peter, holds him tightly as he takes his time fucking the younger man. John kisses the back of his boys' neck, whispers praise into the werewolf's ear, lets his hands roam across the planes of Peter's stomach, occasionally stopping to pluck at the boy's nipples.

When Daddy's rhythm starts to get erratic, when his breathing hitches, Peter knows the older man is close, and he rocks back a little, squeezes around the cock inside him. John grips Peters hip with one hand, the boy's neck with the other, and fucks into him hard three more times before he's pulsing inside Peter.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Peter whispers as John holds him tightly, clings to the younger man until the softening cock slips free. Then he reaches for and reseats the plug, keeping his seed inside Peter. Once again he clutches Peter tightly, wrapping around him until the human falls asleep.

Peter eventually slides free of the older man's grasp, tucks the blankets up around him and presses a soft kiss to his temple. Then the werewolf pads lightly out of the bedroom, heads to the kitchen and makes sure the food is packed and put in a plastic bag, so that Daddy can take it in the morning. Peter tucks the now-dry dishes back in his bag, and sets two bottles of whiskey on the coffee table.

Assuring himself that everything is taken care of, Peter takes the stack of cash that had been left on top of his clothing, gets himself dressed, and leaves.

 


	3. Rafael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see end notes for explanation of dub-con/non-con tag.

The man saunters into the club, pausing just inside the doorway as if inviting admiration. Truth be told he deserves it. He's tall and handsome, the suit he's wearing says well paying job, the Rolex says good taste, he walks like he's the king of the room.

Peter hates him on sight.

He turns away, ignores the guy to check his email, and offers up prayers to every god he knows of that this man isn't his client.

The thump of a stack of bills hitting the table grabs Peter's attention, and he can smell the expensive aftershave as he looks up at the bastard.

“You the whore?” He says, something cruel glinting in his eye, slow smirk telling Peter that the guy is deliberately trying to needle him.

“You the asshole?” Peter counters, leaning back, chin lifting as his eyes flash werewolf blue. And if he thought it would put the man off, Peter is dead wrong. The grin spreads until it's downright predatory, and he flicks his business card down on the table next to the stack of cash.

He lowers his voice until it's soft enough that only a wolf could hear it. “I'm going to enjoy beating that attitude out of you. Make sure you wear something you don't mind getting destroyed.”

Peter fixes the man with a very unimpressed glare, even as his body reacts the the mental images that provides. The werewolf leans back, returns his attention to his drink as the human turns and walks away. Peter looks over to see if the man is gone, and sees him standing across the room, watching. He winks before finally exiting the club and Peter sighs heavily, and runs his hand through his hair before picking up the card.

 _Rafael McCall. And a phone number_. Peter flips it over, and there's an address, date, and time. _Arrogant prick_ , he thinks as he reaches for the money, lips pursing as it's double his usual fee.

Peter has a feeling this one is going to hurt.

-

Peter barely gets a step or two inside the room when Rafael slams him into the wall, looking down at Peter. The wolf feels the cold muzzle of a firearm run along the vulnerable line of his neck, and he lets his eyes open wide, licks his lower lip in seeming nervousness as he surreptitiously drops his duffel by the door.

Rafael keeps the gun in place as he tears open the button-up that Peter's wearing, slides his hand inside to get his hands on Peter's skin, presses his body up against the werewolf's as he rakes his nails suddenly down Peter's back.

The younger man stiffens and arches forward automatically, which means rubbing up against Rafael, who slides his hand into Peter's jeans next, cups the flesh so hard that Peter would bruise were he human. It still stings a little, and Peter's again forced to press himself into the taller man trying to get away from the gripping fingers.

“Greedy little whore,” Rafael says as he leans down and bites Peter's lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Peter really hates that word.

“Escort,” he snaps after tugging his lip from Rafael's teeth.

The handgun hits him across the face, and Peter falls to the ground. A little over-exaggerated perhaps but Rafael had put a fair amount of force into the blow, and it'll sting for a while before that heals.

He turns his face up, blue eyes wide and Rafael grabs a handful of his hair, jerks him up into a kneel.

“You are what I say you are,” and he backhands Peter, not holding anything back.

Peter considers a moment as he lifts his gaze up to the human again, licks his lip where Rafael had split it. He decides to go for the extra bit of defiance and pushes himself up from the floor, crosses his arms.

“Fuck you.”

He made the right call, because Rafael's eye light up and he smirks slowly. “That's the general idea.”

He reaches for Peter and shoves him onto the bed, and the werewolf snarls as he hits the mattress hard. And then freezes as the gun is pointed right at his face as Rafael climbs on top of him, pinning the smaller man down.

“Open,” he demands, and the barrel taps against Peter's lips. The werewolf's eyes narrow and he shakes his head minutely. Rafael hits him across the face with it again, and then shoves the gun in his mouth when he gasps from the blow. He presses the barrel down against' Peter's tongue and starts sliding it along the muscle. Peter tastes gunpowder and oil.

Rafael's other hand goes to Peter's chest, raking nails across it, marking Peter up until he drags them across a nipple, and Peter twitches in spite of himself.

Rafael doesn't say anything, but he chuckles darkly and starts plucking and twisting first one, then the other. And Peter can't help that he's reacting, and Rafael is straddling him, of course he notices, grinds himself down onto the man pinned beneath him.

Once Peter's nipples are red and raw, both the gun and Rafael withdraw, and Peter's guess that the guy is in law enforcement in confirmed as he yanks Peter up, flips him with practiced ease, and cuffs his hands behind his back. Peter squirms and puts up some resistance until the cold steel is once again pressed to the back of his neck.

“Hold still or I _will_ shoot you,” Rafael growls, and Peter finds he believes the older man.

The gun is withdrawn as Peter ceases his squirming, and he feels the sharp edge of something trail along his spine, and it's not until it's tearing through his shirt that Peter realizes that it must be a knife. And a really good one too, because it goes to his jeans next, and manages to slice them as well.

Rafael's weight settles on him again, smooth fabric of the older man's slacks again Peter' bare ass, trapping his erection between the werewolf's body and the motel room comforter. The knife traces something along his back, and then the stinging starts.

McCall is carving his initials into Peter's back. He swears softly and turns his head to say something to his client, but then there's a tongue sliding across the wounds, and suddenly the barrel of that gun is slid back into his mouth. Peter hears the knife clatter to the floor and thanks his stars for that.

Rafael leaves the gun there, but climbs off Peter before shoving the werewolf's legs until he's on his knees, cheek smooshed into the bed.

Peter hears the snick of a belt sliding through loops, and the whistle of the leather through the air, so he's prepared when Rafael starts whipping him with his belt. He still manages to gasp in supposed surprise around the gun in his mouth, and arch away from the sting.

Rafael rains blows not only along Peter's ass, but across his back and bound arms, and down his thighs. But it's not until he starts flicking the end of the belt to strike along the part of Peter's ass, to slap against his puckered hole, that Peter's squirming and pleading become real. Peter's been beaten before but this is a new pain for him.

Rafael finally tires of whipping Peter and wraps the belt around Peter's neck instead, pulling it as tightly as he can, and then tugging Peter's head up by it a few times. Peter concentrates on breathing when he can.

The length of the belt is draped along Peter's spine as Rafael slide a hand between Peter's legs, wraps around the werewolf's cock and strokes it roughly. Peter was hard already, but the adrenaline euphoria from the beating is kicking in, and he can't help fucking into Rafael's hand.

“I knew you'd want it,” the older man smirks, laughing darkly at Peter's whine when he takes his hand away. “Oh no, whore, you're here for my pleasure.” And he slaps the werewolf's flank hard, then reaches for the gun, finally pulling the barrel free of Peter's mouth.

He relaxes minutely, but then startles as that same barrel is pressed to his asshole, slid teasingly down along the cleft until the cold steel is pressing against his balls.

Rafael holds it there while he opens a bottle, and Peter feels the cold slick of lube drip down to splatter against him, but he doesn't even have time to get used to it before two fingers spear into him. Just the barest minimum of prep before the gun barrel is sliding in, and it's an odd feeling, not the same as the hardness of a dildo, those are at least shaped to fit, this is a cold, unyielding hardness that Peter can feel tearing at him.

“Asshole, _bastard_ ,” Peter growls at him, but Rafael laughs and trails a finger along Peter's dick that hasn't softened a bit.

“Still mouthy, whore?” Rafael turns Peter's head to the other side with a harsh handful of his hair and shoves his cock between Peter's lips without any warning. “I'm starting to get sick of hearing your voice.”

He continues to fuck Peter with the firearm as he uses Peter's mouth, using his free hand to pull the belt up, cutting of Peter's air. The werewolf loses track of how long this goes on, but he thinks he must have passed out at some point, because when he is coherent once more, Rafael is repositioning behind Peter, pushing the werewolf's legs as far apart as he can, and Peter can feel fingernails digging into the skin of his rear as Rafael pulls him open, lines himself up, and shoves.

Peter cries out into the room, because it fucking hurts like nothing he's ever felt before, and he can't help the fangs and claws that extend as he battles with himself to keep control.

Rafael notices, laughs at the evidence of the inner struggle, then drapes himself over Peter's back, blunt human teeth latching on to the back of Peter's neck in a parody of mating. But it works, settles the wolf down, and when Rafael shifts his angle, and his long fingers find Peter's nipples, it quickly crosses into pleasure.

Rafael lifts one hand, grabs hold of the belt around Peter's neck and pulls it taut as he chases his release, other hand sliding down to tug at Peter's leaking cock, and then he starts talking to Peter, growling obscenities and insults into the werewolf's ear.

Peter feels his gut tighten and gasps out a warning, and Rafael immediately lets go, wraps both his hands around Peter's hips and slams himself fully in, once, twice, and then he's filling Peter with his come, hot seed splashing against raw insides, and Peter whimpers.

Rafael pulls his softening dick out with a groan and then stapes back off the bed, goes to the sink of the bathroom and cleans himself off, as Peter falls to his side, aching everywhere, cock still rock hard, and fluids leaking from his ass.

Rafael picks up the knife from the floor, wipes it clean on the bed spread, and then reaches for the gun that's sitting on the bed, lifts up a pillow, and shoots Peter in the stomach. He drops the pillow on the werewolf's face as Peter yells, and then the wolf hears the clicking of the door shutting behind Rafael.

-

It takes him about a half hour to get himself free of the cuffs, amused to see that they're not regular ones as he had initially thought, but specially made to restrain werewolves.

Peter then goes to his bag to get the first aid kit, smirks faintly as he sees another double-stack of cash on top of it. He'd fucking earned that.

He digs the bullet free with a minimum of effort, and leaves it in the sink.

Once he's recovered from that, Peter takes a long shower and then changes into comfortable clothes. He's gonna be hurting in some places for at least another few hours.

Peter leaves the bloody mess of a room, stops at a bakery on the way home and picks himself up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

He curls up on his couch and eats cookies and watches documentaries while he heals, and then he heads to bed.

Something wakes him up a few hours later, and he tenses, eyes flashing blue as Peter looks around. Another set of glowing eyes, red to his blue, materialize in the darkness, and then someone steps forward into the moonlight streaming through the window.

Peter arches his brows in shock.

“ _Derek_?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is written as dub-con/non-con due to the nature of the scene, and I have added those tags for anyone who is triggered by these things. It is, however, a pre-negotiated scene with agreed upon elements.
> 
> Peter knew about the bondage, the gun play, the breath play, the knife play, and that Rafael intended to shoot him all beforehand.


	4. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is non-con. Please see end notes for more detailed explanation.

Derek's nostrils flare as he moves closer to the bed, clawed hands curving over the footboard and digging into the wood. “You're hurt,” he said flatly, and Peter looked away.

“That's not your business,” he says instead of lying and saying he's fine. Peter _is_ hurt, technically, but he'll recover.

“I'm your Alpha,” Derek says, eyes still glowing, “that makes it my business.”

“Why are you here, Derek?” Peter just wants his nephew to go away, to let him pamper himself in peace until he has to go out and make some more money.

Derek lifts his hand, and the small duffel in it, drops the bag on Peter's bed at his feet. “I found your website.”

Peter goes very, very still, blue eyes glued to the bag, then they slowly drift up to Derek, chin lifting arrogantly. “I can do what I like with my free time.”

Derek snorts. “Your time is far from free.” He unzips the bag and dumps it at Peter feet. “I think this ought to cover it.”

Peter watches the money falling from the bag, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Derek, I don't-”

“You _do_ , apparently.” Derek leans forward. “I read the entire list.”

Peter imagines Derek looking at his checklist, and his cheeks flush faintly. “You're my nephew.”

Derek crosses his arms across his chest.

“I'm your Alpha.”

There's a long, long moment where blue eyes meet red, and the silence in the room is absolute. Peter is the first to blink, to look away, slowly lower his eyes and then close them. Peter hears his nephew's heart thump when the beta tilts his head sideways, bares his neck in submission. And that's all it takes.

Derek settles on the bed, tugs Peter close to him, and curls his hand around the beta's neck. “Thank you, Peter,” he murmurs, and his thumb strokes along the skin. Peter suppresses a shiver and doesn't answer.

Derek doesn't seem to mind, following his thumb with his lips, pressing a soft kiss against Peter's neck, then pulling back. “In the bag by the door you'll find my things. I want you to smell like me.”

Peter takes a deep breath at his nephew – no, his _client's_ – request, and then nods and slides from Derek's grasp.

The Alpha rises and follows, watches Peter like a hawk as he gathers Derek's shampoo and body wash and heads into the bathroom. He inserts himself in the doorway, crosses his arms and watches as Peter puts the bottle in the shower, and turns it on to get the water warm.

Peter arches a brow at Derek as he tugs off the soft v-neck and pajama pants, and Derek is silent until Peter turns his back to toss his things in the hamper. There's a noise behind him, and then a strong body next to him as Derek traces what's left of the carvings between his shoulder blades, and then down to circle the fading red scar of the bullet wound.

Peter stands stock still as Derek traces the thin bruised lines that are left from the belt, leaning forward slightly and gripping the bathroom counter as Derek carefully places his fingers where Rafael had. Peter can feel himself reacting, and he wills the warmth in his gut to go away. But when Derek rests a hand on Peter's lower back and pushes him forward, slides his thumbs down the cleft, and pulls the globes of Peter's ass apart, he loses the fight, and his dick starts to fill out.

Just the pad of Derek's middle finger brush across Peter's hole, but it still stings, and Peter can't hold back the hiss, and the subsequent gasp as Derek takes his pain.

“I'm going to take care of you, Peter,” Derek promises, eyes flaring red as Peter looks up to see them in the mirror, and the beta can't decide whether he wants that finger to keep going. Derek pulls back though, shrugs his jacket off and then his t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” Peter turns around and watches his neph – the client – unzip his black jeans.

Derek looks up through his lashes. “Taking care of you. Get in the shower.”

Peter narrows his eyes, and doesn't. Derek finishes stripping, and then curls his hand around Peter' bicep and directs him into the hot water.

The beta sighs and reaches for the shampoo, but Derek beats him there, pours some in his hand and then starts massaging it into Peter's scalp. No one _ever_ touches Peter like this, and he can't help but melt under the gentle touch, closing his eyes and leaning slightly into Derek' touch.

He's pliant as Derek turns him, ducks him under the spray, and rinses him off. But when Derek lifts Peter's hand, presses the palms against the shower wall and breathes, “Stay” into his ear, Peter stiffens once more. “Derek-” he starts but the Alpha shushes him, starts running soap-slick hands along Peter's neck and then shoulders, working his way down. He's thorough but clinical, not paying any more attention to Peter's erection than he does to any other part of his uncle's body. Derek rinses him off again with the same sort of detachment, and then reaches past the older man to shut the shower off.

He grabs a towel, wraps Peter in it, gently runs a second over the beta's head, and then wraps one around his own waist. Peter tries to protest again as Derek tugs him back toward the bedroom, but this time when Derek hushes him, it's with a kiss, soft and tender.

“I get what I want, Peter.” It's whispered against the older man's lips. And he's not sure if Derek means because he's paid Peter, or because he's Alpha, but Peter lowers his eyes and nods.

He feels uncharacteristically calm, and Peter suddenly realizes he should be much more disturbed.

Peter digs in his heels again, furrows his brow at Derek. “Drugged.”

Derek nods, hazel eyes sad. “You're not taking care of yourself, Peter. There was no other way to get you to let me do it.” Derek kisses him again, just as lightly. “You've already proved that.”

Derek scoops Peter up then, carries him bridal style back to the bed, kissing him periodically, just gentle presses of lips.

Derek lays Peter down on the bed, buries his nose in the crook of the older man's neck. “Much better,” he rumbles, and Peter feels that stupid little thrill at praise from his Alpha. He manages to avoid reacting at all, not that Derek notices. He occupies himself with layering kisses over every inch of exposed skin, then wrapping Peter up in his arms and curling around his uncle.

Peter listens to the sound of Derek breathing for a long time. He tries to squirm away a couple of times, feigning movement in his sleep, but the younger man's arms tighten and bring him back each time. Eventually Peter falls asleep.

-

He wakes to a hot, hard length sliding between the cheeks of his ass, and Derek's lips pressing against the back of his neck. Peter shifts slightly, but Derek's arms are bands of iron, and all he can do is lay there, until Derek rolls Peter onto his stomach and straddles Peter's ass. The beta hears the unmistakeable sounds of Derek's hand on himself, and Peter squirms.

“Derek, please, this is enough.”

The younger man ignores him, and a few seconds later, Peter feels the hot splashes of come land across his back. Derek takes his time rubbing it into Peter's skin, over the complaints of the older man, and then Derek climbs off, turns Peter so they're face to face, and slides his arms around his uncle.

“Need you to smell like me,” Derek mumbles and then presses his tongue against the seam of Peter's lips. He thoroughly explores the beta's mouth, claiming and owning with his tongue in a way that Peter's never felt before.

Derek moves to his back, pulls Peter's head to rest on his chest, and strokes his hand through Peter's hair. “You're mine, Peter, you have always belonged to me.”

“Derek,” Peter tries again, “this isn't right, I've told you before.”

Derek grabs a fistful of Peter hair and tugs his head back until the beta is once again looking at glowing red eyes. “That was before I became an Alpha.”

-

Derek doesn't let Peter get out of bed, brings him breakfast on a tray, all Peter's favorites, and insists on feeding him. After the older man is done eating, Derek takes the towel away, and inspects all Peter's wounds once more, making a pleased rumble when he finds that everything is healed.

Peter feels the unnatural calm descend on him once more, and now he's got a time window for the drugs, and he knows better when he's under their influence.

Derek has him on his hands and knees while checking him over, and now that Derek sees that the tearing is gone, he rubs his finger along Peter's tight pucker a little more insistently, and then replaces it with his tongue.

Peter makes a strangled noise as he fights with his body's reaction, but the deck is stacked against him, and soon he's pushing back against Derek's mouth, whimpering as his nephew spends what seems like hours lavishing attention on his hole. It's wet and sloppy by the time Derek pushes his middle finger in, and Peter's dick is dripping precome onto the bed below him.

Derek adds another finger, and then he shifts, slides himself under Peter, pulls his uncle's cock down into his mouth. Peter groans as the wet heat closes around him, at feeling Derek's tongue slides along the bottom of his length.

Derek twists his fingers, searching, and knows he's founds the spot by the way Peter's dick twitches inside his mouth, and by the wanton noise Peter makes that vibrates right through him. Derek continues to pump his fingers into his beta while suckling on the older man's cock, and before too long Peter's shuddering his release onto his nephew's tongue.

Derek gently disengages, guides Peter to his side, and runs his hands soothingly along the older man's sides until his heartrate comes back to normal. The beta's eyes slide slowly shut and Derek presses a kiss to his uncle's temple before climbing onto his knees, and gently putting his hand to himself once more.

Derek can still taste Peter on his tongue, thinks about how beautiful he looks likes this, sleepy and pampered, and thinks about fucking Peter while he's asleep, all loose and open. Derek cries out Peter's name as he spills onto the beta's chest and face, and then whispers it lovingly as he takes his time rubbing it in, making sure his scent is in every pore of his beta's skin.

-

Peter slowly lifts an eyelid, looks through his lashes at Derek, who is sleeping soundly. He carefully inches his way off the bed, breath hitching at every tiny movement Derek makes. Peter silently stuffs the money into Derek's empty duffle, throws on the first outfit he comes across, and then tiptoes out of the bedroom.

He gives himself thirty seconds to shove whatever else valuable he can find into the bag, then pads silently into the dining room, grabs a new phone from his stash, transfers one contact over, and then tucks his passport into the duffel.

Peter doesn't breathe normally until he's sitting on a flight heading for New York. When he lands, Peter dials the one single number in his phone.

“Christopher. I need a favor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gist of this is that Derek has been fascinated by Peter since he was young, but it went into overdrive when he became Alpha (the normal way, whatever that is, no Hale fire, etc.), and now he's obsessed with taking care of Peter. That's why Peter left home in the first place. And Derek tracks him down, and does things that Peter doesn't consent to.


	5. Christopher

“You look like hell,” is the greeting that Peter gets as he climbs into the bulletproof limousine, closely followed by, “still whoring?”

“Thanks,” Peter returns, leaning back into the plush leather with a sigh, “still committing murder on a daily basis?”

“Everyone's got to have a hobby.” Chris pours two drinks, hands one over to Peter. “Though it seems saving your ass is starting to be one of mine.”

“It's an ass worth saving,” Peter smirks, and then shakes his head. “Overzealous client, big powerful family, need to lie low. Not anything like last time.”

“Except the overzealous client bit.”

“How was I to know that she'd try to burn my house down? I've been much more careful since then.”

“Apparently not,” Chris grins and down his drink, waves a hand to forestall Peter's objection. “It's fine, you'll be my house guest for a few weeks until this guy finds himself a new obsession.”

Peter nods and leans back, closes his eyes. With Christopher, he's safe.

-

Peter sleeps for an entire day after being ensconced in the same suite of rooms he'd stayed at years ago, when he and Chris had first met.

_They'd had a brief fling, the rich bad boy looking to party and the pretty runaway turned to selling his body, but in the end Chris had to marry for the Family. Peter'd found other ways to indulge himself, and Chris had been happy, and though they'd kept in touch, done the occasional favor for the other, they'd never touched again. Peter had too much respect for the woman, thinks they would have liked each other under different circumstances. And Chris, well for a murderer, he had a very strict sense of honor._

His rooms were kept the same though, even down to the scentless laundering, and Peter wonders if that was an oversight or deliberate.

He supposes it doesn't really matter, it feels like home, safe enough that he can sleep, and Peter takes a long, luxurious shower, dresses himself in things that don't smell like Derek, and then wanders down to the kitchen looking for something to eat.

“Marta!” he exclaims when he sees the cook, and she pulls him into a bear hug. “You're just as beautiful as the day I met you.”

She rolls her eyes, but settles food in front of him, a series of his favorites, and Peter shakes his head. “You remembered,” he says softly but arches a brow when she shakes her head, pointing to the ceiling.

It seems someone _else_ remembered.

After he eats, Peter gives himself a tour of the house, smiling at a painting they'd bought together.

_High off their asses, the werewolf had gotten it into his head to go to one of those art shows you always see rich people at on tv. Chris had shrugged and had his assistant find the nearest one. They'd spent an hour making fun of the paintings, and then Peter had seen this one. Just a plain forest, but something about the shading, the hidden darkness within, had drawn him to it. Chris bought it on the spot._

Peter wanders on, noting additions, but surprised to see how little has changed.

“Victoria didn't live here,” Chris says softly as he walks up behind Peter, stands close enough to touch, but doesn't. Peter feels like swaying back into the older man's arms, but he thinks maybe it's nostalgia and exhaustion giving him the impulse.

Chris doesn't explain his statement and Peter doesn't ask him to. He leads the way out to the gardens, settles down on a chair out there, gestures for Peter to take the other.

“You can stay here as long as you need, Peter. No one will bother you.”

“Thank you Christopher, I'm sure it won't be for long, I just need to keep off the guy's radar for a while.”

Chris is silent a moment, then flicks those ice blue eyes up at the werewolf. “I could have that taken care of for you.”

Peter purses his lips a moment, shakes his head. “He's an Alpha.”

Chris blinks slowly, and then barks a short laugh. “Of course he is, when does Peter Hale do anything half way?”

_Killing an Alpha marks you for life, makes you free game to any werewolf that you run across. There aren't very many Alphas, and if they're not killed by a wolf, not able to pass the Alpha power down, it vanishes._

Peter is silent to the jibe, but manages a tight smile.

“I'll still do it.” There's no false bravado there, but ruthless efficiency and determination. Chris knows what the cost of it will be.

“Christopher, it's...complicated.”

He crosses his arms and stares Peter down. “So un-complicate it.”

“He's _my_ Alpha.” Peter pushes up from his chair, walks a few steps to pretend he's looking at a rosebush.

Chris furrows a brow, ice blue eyes tracing the unhappy curve of Peter's body. “I thought your Alpha was your nephew.”

Peter stiffens, doesn't look at Chris, just stares into the roses. There's a long moment of silence.

“I see.” Chris' voice is just as hard as Peter thought it would be when he found out, and he hears the human rise and walk away.

Peter closes his eyes and sinks to the grass, stays there looking at the flowers blankly for at least an hour until the bell rings for lunch.

Sighing, still not sure where he's going to go next, Peter trudges into the house, nodding gratefully to the man setting the food on the table.

“Mr. Argent had to go away suddenly on business.”

Peter looks up at the man, startled. “He said you would be staying indefinitely.”

The werewolf nods after a moment, somewhat jerkily in his surprise, and the servant drifts away.

Peter stares into his soup a long time. It's not like he expected anything when he called Chris, but still the abandonment stung.

 _Probably not as much as finding out your house-guest fucked his nephew_ , an uncharitable voice inside his head whispers.

-

Peter spends the next two days erasing himself from the internet. His website is taken down, everything gone, he closes the email accounts and bank accounts, even the crap stuff that he never used, everything he can think of.

Once that's out of the way, Peter starts exploring the house. Everything is almost exactly as he remembers, and he wonders why nothing's been changed or updated. Peter figures maybe it's not used very much.

About a week after he comes to stay at Chris' guest home, Peter climbs into the attic. There's all kinds of stuff up here, and he loses a whole day going through a box of old books. He brings a couple down to read over, leaves them on his bedside table.

The next day he finds the albums, ones of Chris and his family when they were children, Peter recognizes the old Head of the Family, had met him exactly once, where he'd laid down what he'd thought of Peter and his son together in no uncertain terms.

There's an envelope in the box, and after he goes through the albums, he opens it.

And sees himself.

At least fifteen separate pictures of him, and Peter doesn't even remember half of these. He smiles at one taken out in the garden by those same damned roses. Peter's got one tucked behind his ear, and he's looking down. It makes him looks almost shy. He can see why Chris kept it.

The very last picture is one of them together. Peter's never seen it before, but he remembers that night, the night Chris told him their fling was over. The werewolf runs his thumb over the face of his younger self and tucks that one into his pocket. Everything else gets put back away.

That picture gets slid into the mirror in his bedroom, right next to a vase that he clips one single rose to settle into.

The picture, the rose, the books, they keep him company at night.

-

One stormy day a few weeks later, Chris comes home. He walks in through the front door, shucks his coat and umbrella and drops a stack of paperwork in front of Peter.

“Sign,” he says, and then vanishes into his suite.

Peter arches a brow and reaches for the documents, reads every one of them, looks after where Chris had disappeared to, stunned.

Setting the papers down, Peter rises and makes his way to Chris' rooms, not bothering to knock, just walking in.

“You always were shit at following orders,” Chris muttered, tossing his shirt in the hamper, and turning to Peter. “You going to sign those papers or not?”

“You don't have to do this, Christopher.”

“Peter Hale, I'm the Head of my Family now. I don't have to do _anything_ I don't want to do.”

Peter's blue eyes are wide as he steps forward, inserts himself in Chris' space. “I don't want a fake marriage, Christopher.”

The human reaches out and pulls Peter close, breathes against his lips. “Neither do I.”

Peter's expecting a kiss, so when Chris shoves him onto the bed, he makes a noise that would be labeled a squeak if it came from anyone else.

Chris climbs on top of him, and Peter can't resist sliding his hands along the torso on display. “So gorgeous,” he mumbles and then flushes faintly as Chris grins.

“So I've been told. So, Peter Hale, will you marry me?”

“That doesn't solve my problems, you know.”

“I've got one more trick up my sleeve. My daughter happens to be married to the local Alpha. I found you a new Pack, too.”

Peter blinks, and then huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “That's a lot for you to bring to the table, Christopher. I have nothing to offer you.”

Instead of answering, Chris leans in, kisses his werewolf gently, tenderly, sliding one hand around the back of the younger man's neck and the other around Peter's waist.

As Peter's eyes flutter closed, Chris trails tiny little kisses across his jaw, and down his neck. Peter shifts beneath him as Chris buries his face in the wolf's neck, and then opens his eyes as Chris leans back, pulls Peter up to a sitting position.

He tugs the younger man's shirt off, lets it fall to the floor as he lays Peter back down, resumes trailing his lips across the werewolf's skin. Chris' tongue traces his collarbone, makes his way to the werewolf's nipples, places soft kisses on one before tonguing it gently. The human's free hand slides down, curls around a denim clad hip as Peter shifts upward, seeking friction.

Instead, Chris moves to the other, teases it into a tight peak before following the line of soft hair along Peter's stomach slowly, traces his tongue along the waistband of Peter's jeans before moving his hands to unfasten them. The wolf lifts his hips so that Chris can tug his clothes off, and his eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches the human step back to slide himself free of clothing as well. And then Chris is pressing himself against Peter once more, skin to skin everywhere, lips finding the younger man's again, tongue sliding along the seam of Peter's lips until the werewolf parts them to let him in.

He shifts position so that his length is sliding along the hollow of Peter's hip, same for the wolf in Chris', and a hand slides down to gently tease at a nipple while Chris' other hand curls back around Peter's neck. And that's how they make love for the first time in years, bodies moving in unison, marking silent promises into each other's skin with lips and fingers.

When they're sated, curled up into one another, sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat, Chris turns a soft smile to the werewolf.

“You are all I have ever needed, Peter Hale. And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will.” He presses a kiss to Peter's forehead and then pulls back again. “Now then, what do you say to my proposal?”

Peter pretends to consider a long moment, long enough the Chris gets dangerously close to pinning him and ravishing him all over again, and then the werewolf smirks, leans in and presses a soft kiss to the tip of Chris' nose, before moving to whisper against the older man's lips.

“Sold.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: King Nothing by Metallica
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


End file.
